


The Mummer’s Farce is Almost Done

by lightningwaltz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: A Dance With Dragons spoilers, Gen, you gotta have green hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:59:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ocean brought the world to White Harbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mummer’s Farce is Almost Done

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitrinlu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitrinlu/gifts).



> Kitrinlu wanted Wylla Manderly fic and I was more than happy to comply!
> 
> This is pretty spoiler happy, as the tags say.

The ocean brought the world to White Harbor. Merchant ships washed up on its shores lured by the siren call of commerce. The Manderlys shored up food for the cold years to come, honoring practicality and ancient vows alike, knowing that one day the weather would defeat all but the bravest of sailors.

The tides also ushered in hearsay, and it was the only type of trade unhindered by winter planning and customs men. When Wylla and her older sister ventured out to the Sept of the Snows, they heard snatches of conversation. For many weeks now, tales of a Targaryen princess and her dragons had been on everyone’s lips. The woman lived a continent away, and no doubt the tale had grown in the telling, but it was certainly a story worth repeating.

“Do you think it’s true?” Wylla found that it was too cold to properly imagine dragons, but she enjoyed entertaining the possibility.

“I think there are a great deal of things that are true that we don’t know yet.” Wynafryd had always been the quiet one of the pair, but she had become infuriatingly vague in the wake of the Red Wedding. Wylla’s ears burned from the cold and she resolved not to ask her sister another question. Instead she huffed in exasperation, her breath visible on the air, and walked a few deliberate steps ahead.

News of grief, too, had traveled by water to White Harbor, by river and by sea. Since the onset of war, Wylla had learned of the deaths of her cousin, her uncle and her sovereign. Word had come of the captivity of her father, and while their Lord Grandfather strategized, she prayed.

Wylla _tried_ to pray, at least. Whenever she found herself in the sept lately, her thoughts inevitably twisted into angry ruminations on history. From an early age she had been taught that her family owed its autonomy and power to the generosity of the Starks. The Wardens of the North prayed to the old gods and the Manderlys prayed to the Faith of the Seven, but they were bound together by mutual loyalty.

_Am I to forget that as easily as I am expected to forget guest right?_

The question stuck in her mind like a bruise, until she was wanted to shatter the silence of the sept with her screams. Her king had partaken of bread and salt, and they still killed him. Her father still rotted in a dungeon somewhere. The world had turned upside down.

*****

Ships from Essos were becoming few and far between, but one such arrived with a haul of Tyroshi goods. Wynafryd had extensive contacts among the merchants, the Seven only knew how, and she surprised Wylla with a gift of green hair dye.

“My hair’s too dark for it, but perhaps this may work on you.” For the first time in weeks Wylla’s sister had a smile on her face, conspiratorial or no. "It may charm your betrothed."

Wylla examined one of her pale strands of hair, winding it around her finger. “Yes, let’s.”

The dye took quite well, to their mother’s dismay. Wylla found she loved sinking low in her bathtub. Her hair spread around her like seaweed, and she imagined she was a mermaid on her House’s sigil. In the oldest tales, they enticed sailors with their beauty and feasted on their flesh.

When the Freys arrived and met Wylla for the first time, their faces curdled at the sight of her.

“Her hair is _green_ ,” Rhaegar Frey complained.

“A youthful folly, I’m afraid.” Wyman Manderly sighed.

“It’s permanent,” Wylla added, helpfully.

As the weeks passed and her hair faded to lighter hues, the Freys took to squinting at Wylla as if they were hearing a jest they couldn’t quite understand.

*****

On the heels of autumn, the sea brought the demands of Southron kings. Hours after the ill-fated meeting with Davos Seaworth, Wylla’s older sister came to see her.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” More than anyone else, Wynafryd’s deference to the Freys had hurt. _I thought you were braver than that._

“You must be patient.” Wynafryd began braiding her younger sister hair. Soon enough she leaned forward to whisper in Wylla’s ear. “The Freys will die before they make it to the Bolton wedding. No, don’t look so happy. Continue to look as though I’m saying empty-headed things.”

When Wynafryd finished her task, she stepped back. “Are we understood?” She was much louder this time.

Wylla found it difficult not to grin. “Yes, I understand.”


End file.
